


Life’s Not A Competition (But I’m Winning)

by kesdax



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-09-26 03:03:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17133818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesdax/pseuds/kesdax
Summary: An afternoon of boardgames aboard the TARDIS turns deadly when Ryan accidentally sets something loose.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [happierhere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/happierhere/gifts).



Seven hours to kill while the TARDIS refuelled from a binary supernova. Half an hour in and Ryan was already bored, Graham had complained three times about the lack of food in the TARDIS kitchen and the Doctor was launching into her second lecture about quantum transdimensional physics that only Yaz seemed remotely interested in. Although, to be fair, the Doctor could read from the phone book and Yaz would be fascinated.

Ryan was pretty sure there was no way Yaz could even understand a third of what the Doctor was saying, yet every now and then she would exclaim something suddenly - something technical, something  _ definitely probably _ made up - and the Doctor would freeze mid word, her features blooming into a wide grin that seemed to light up their part of the TARDIS.

It was moments like this when Ryan felt like he was intruding on something private. His skin would prickle uncomfortably and he was convinced everyone else was entirely oblivious to it, especially Yaz and the Doctor; safe and occupied as they were in their own little bubble of a world.

“I’m so bored of this,” he said, not meaning to say it out loud, but there it was, after months of watching the Doctor and Yaz do this awkward impression of flirting or whatever it was. He was tired of it. It was just embarrassing, really. Like watching his older sister and his best mate. The fact that neither of them were aware of it made him want to scream. And how could they  _ not _ notice it? With the looks they give each other when the other wasn’t looking (or when the other  _ was _ looking but was so dazzled by the other they couldn’t see it).

_ Yep, this is my life now,  _ Ryan thought,  _ the awkward third wheel wedged inside an alcove with two idiots who fancy each other but don’t know they fancy each other so they just stand there and look stupid and make everyone else uncomfortable. _

It reminded him of those early days of Nan and Graham. Days where Ryan had done his best to avoid being stuck in a room with them, or anywhere in public. Sure, Nan was happy and that was great, but did she have to be so  _ obvious _ about it.

Now though… now he would give anything for those days back. He would suffer all the gross PDA’s that old people should  _ definitely not _ be indulging in, anything to see his Nan again.

But the Doctor and the TARDIS… he had seen so much. He knew the cost of what came with meddling in time.

Not that that ever seemed to stop the Doctor when it suited her.

“Only boring people get bored,” said Graham. “Me Gran used to say that.”

“She obviously never got stuck in a TARDIS in the most boring part of the universe.”

“Well, she did run out of petrol once on her way to Wales. So,” said Graham, clapping Ryan on the shoulder far too cheerily, “could be worse.”

“Didn’t know they had petrol in the Dark Ages.”

“Oi!” Graham scowled in a way that didn’t overtake the humour in his eyes. “You calling me old?”

“Obviously,” said Ryan.

“You’re not moping again are you, Ryan?” said the Doctor from the other side of the console.

“I don’t mope,” said Ryan sullenly, knowing full well that he was, in fact, moping. It tended to happen during those quieter moments aboard the TARDIS. Thankfully, those were usually rare. There wasn’t often time to mope when you were busy running for your life.

“We could always play a game if you’re bored.” There was a giddy bounce to the Doctor’s step. He’d seen that bounce before. It usually ended in trouble.

“What, like I Spy?” said Graham, looking around the TARDIS console room with a wary eye. He looked like he had just about as much confidence as Ryan did for naming all the inexplicable parts that made the time machine work.

_ I spy with my little eye, something beginning with the Doctor’s secret stash of custard creams. _

The Doctor’s face scrunched up into something reminiscing a restless toddler. “There’s a game room around here somewhere. Full of board games and a cursed slot machine from Caesars Palace circa 1969.”

“Cursed?” said Graham, alarmed.

“Best avoid that. But the board games should be fine.”

_ Should be. _

“Why do I feel like we’re about to find the space Jumanji?” Ryan muttered as the three humans hurried to follow one excited Time Lord through the labyrinth of corridors that made up the interior of the TARDIS.

“Cos the Doctor can’t go five minutes without  _ something _ happening,” said Yaz with a fondness in her voice that gave it a musical lilt.

Ryan rolled his eyes. Sometimes he wished the copper part of Yaz was more dominant than the part of her that tended to indulge the Doctor in her mad antics. There was a few bruises, a pair of melted trainers, and four missing mobile phones he could have done without if only  _ someone _ responsible had talked the Doctor out of certain plans.

“What does she mean ‘cursed’?” Graham was saying, rather loudly. “Is no one else concerned about this cursed business?”

Would he change any of it though? Give it all up? Apart from his Nan…. hell no.

They were a team, a gang - dare he finally admit it? - a fam. Ryan couldn’t imagine life any other way now. He couldn’t see it ending, although he knew, deep down in that far away sensible part of himself that was all Nan - he knew nothing could last forever. One day, the Doctor would take them home, pop off for some biscuits and never come back. He might actually have to finish his NVQ, get a better job, a normal life.

Of course, that was the best case scenario. Best not to think of the alternatives.

The zig zag of corridors finally opened up into a large hall; a ceiling so high it crept up and up until swallowed by darkness and shadow. Ryan had never been this far into the TARDIS; neither had Graham or Yaz going by the wonder on their faces. Safer to stick to those few rooms near the console room. Ryan didn’t know how big the inside of the TARDIS truly was and he wasn’t all that keen to get himself lost and find out.

“You think she knows the way back?” said Graham in a hushed tone. Always the worrier of the group. Used to be annoying until it saved their lives on more than one occasion.

Ryan looked towards the Doctor, who seemed to be playing eeny meeny miny moe with the three passageways open to them, and shrugged. “Hope you brought plenty of sandwiches.”

Graham patted the pocket of his cardigan. “Always.”

“That’s just gross,” said Yaz, shaking her head. “I’m not eating pocket sandwiches.”

“Who says I’m sharing?”

“Oi, you lot!” the Doctor called. “Stop loitering.”

Apparently the tiger had squealed and they were going off down the middle corridor, which had gleaming metal floors, more of those weird round things in the walls that seemed to be  _ everywhere _ on the TARDIS and a ceiling made entirely of blue light. It gave the four of them an eerie glow, their skin looking pallid with an undiagnosed but fatal illness. Ryan shivered and stared down at his feet; his white trainers were now a brilliant blue.

“Null grav zone,” shouted the Doctor from somewhere up ahead.

Too late Ryan realised it was a warning and by then he had already lost all his weight, his feet and body no longer bound to the floor. In fact, his brain couldn’t even tell  _ what _ was the floor anymore. He floated along the corridor, propelled by the momentum of his last step, spinning and spinning like a marble rolling down a hill.

“Ugh, I think I’m going to be sick.” This from Graham, who seemed to to be stuck in a similar spin as Ryan. 

Yaz, unfortunately right behind Graham, shouted: “Don’t you dare!”

Up ahead, the Doctor was floating gracefully along in the zero gravity, like a fish swimming in its natural habitat. If it happened to be a space fish, that is. And when the gravity suddenly returned at the other end of the corridor, she landed delicately on her booted feet.

Her three companions weren’t so lucky.

The gravity returned with a rush like an oncoming bus. Ryan yelped and went flying towards the floor (and now his brain and body were quite confident of which bit was the floor now) with a heavy thump. Someone landed on his legs with a cascading rupture of bruises along Ryan’s flesh, while someone else tripped and tangled with  _ their  _ legs, until the shape on the floor vaguely resembled three humans.

“Why you all down there?” said the Doctor. Ryan couldn’t see her face, but he could hear the confusion in her voice that quickly turned into excitement. “Did you find something interesting?” She bounced on the balls of her feet for a moment and then suddenly her face was opposite Ryan’s where she had lain herself flat on the floor on her stomach. Nose pressed to the floor and Ryan heard a deep sniff and a tongue darted out to…

“Urgh, Doctor that’s filthy,” said Graham who was halfway to his feet on creaking knees. “When was the last time you mopped the floors?”

The Doctor, still relaxing on the floor like it was a spa retreat, pondered this question for several moments. “About four hundred and three days ago.”

“And three?” said Yaz with a raised eyebrow as she helped Ryan to his feet.

“Or Seven,” said the Doctor. “Probably. I can never remember. Anyway!” She jumped to her own feet so fast Ryan got whiplash “Space floors! Don’t need washing. Come on.”

Graham, looking disgruntled and rather like he did not agree with the Doctor’s assessment, brushed dust off the front of his cardigan. “Ryan,” he began, “what do you get if you mix a hard boiled egg and a cheese and pickle sarnie together?”

“Is this another one of your bad grandad jokes?” said Ryan. “Cos I still don’t get the one about the potted plant and the fire hose.”

“No - no joke, son,” said Graham somberly, his hand hovering over his pocket as if to stifle a brutal wound. “I think I’ve flattened me lunch.”

Ryan’s nose scrunched up with disgust. “You’ve been carrying around a hardboiled egg this whole time?”

“Source of protein, Ryan,” said Graham seriously. “You know I need regular food.”

“Normal people carry cereal bars.”

Now it was Graham’s face that morphed into disgust. “Cereal should be in a bowl not a bar.”

“Wish I was in a bar right now,” Ryan muttered. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a decent pint and a laugh with his mates. Could barely even remember the last time he had spoken to them. A few awkward words exchanged after Nan’s funeral. The usual type that meant nothing.  _ Sorry for your loss. She was a great woman.  _ And she  _ was. _ He knew that. His friends had meant well, they had been there. Not that it mattered. Not that it changed anything. Not when the one person that  _ should _ have been there hadn’t bothered to come.

And he was being mopey again. Happened when life got too still. No wonder the Doctor was always moving, always running. You forgot the loss, for a little while, when your feet stomped across alien soil, alien air filling your lungs.

“How far’s this game room then?” asked Ryan.

“Not far,” the Doctor promised, sticking a finger into her mouth. She pulled it out with an audible  _ pop _ and stuck it up as if testing the air, a frown lining her face. Although as far as Ryan could tell, there was no wind inside the TARDIS, but the Doctor seemed to sense  _ something,  _ for she twisted around ninety degrees and marched them down a corridor (this one thankfully with proper gravity), its walls lined with doors either side.

The Doctor counted under her breath as they went along. There wasn’t any way to distinguish the doors from one another otherwise.  Finally, muttering “sixteen and a half” under her breath (Ryan had no idea where the half came into and, with most things when it came to the Doctor, decided his life would be easier if he just didn’t ask), she stopped before one of the doors. Unremarkable, made of wood, a brass handle.

She turned to face her companions with her arms stretched wide. “Ta daaaa!”

“We here then?” asked Graham, peering at the door blandly.

“Yes, Graham,” the Doctor sighed, lowering her arms in disappointment at the lack of enthusiasm. “We’re here. Best board games in the universe through that door. Every game ever invented and more.”

“And a cursed slot machine,” Ryan muttered as the Doctor flung the door open wide to let them all in.

“Yeah about that,” said Graham, who was the only one out of the three of them  _ not _ to hurriedly follow the Doctor inside. “What did you mean ‘cursed’?”

But the Doctor just grinned at him. It was a grin with so many layers of hidden meaning its only job was to dazzle and confuse. Ryan had seen that grin before. Seen it as a mask, a shield, the only weapon the Doctor would wield in the face of something bad. Seen it when a plan was whirling in that brilliant mind, not quite yet fully formed.

It was a grin designed to strike fear in the hearts of all mortals.

With an uneasy shiver, Ryan paused in the entrance way and looked at his grandad. “There can’t be anything  _ really _ bad inside the TARDIS, right?” His voice was so low it came out sounding like a scared kid’s. And, just as he knew it would, Graham’s protective instincts kicked in.

“Nah, son,” he said, putting an arm around Ryan’s shoulder and leading him inside, “safest place in the universe, this blue box.”

And, just like that, Graham’s apprehension about the cursed slot machine was forgotten.

Ryan grinned to himself, let Graham keep his arm around his shoulders for a few seconds longer than needed to lead him inside.

The room was smaller than Ryan had been expecting and looked just like any old boring room you’d find on Earth. A round table in the centre with four chairs, walls lined with cupboards, and there, in one lonely corner, was the infamous slot machine. Looking just like… well, a slot machine. No menacing sounds or eerie glowing red lights, no bad vibes at all.

Ryan shrugged and followed the Doctor’s example, opening the nearest cupboard. And, right enough, it was full of board games, the odd jigsaw puzzle. He’d seen a lot of them before, even played a few of them back in the day with Nan on boring rainy days. Others though definitely looked like they hadn’t been invented yet (from his point of view, anyway) and some, judging by the writing on the boxes, must definitely be alien.

“Right then, gang.” The Doctor turned to her companions with an armful of board game boxes. “What are we playing?”

“I like Monopoly,” said Graham.

“Hate capitalism,” said the Doctor. “Threw all my editions into a sun.”

“Bit harsh,” Graham muttered. “What, even the dog? I’m always the dog.”

“I’m not totally heartless, Graham,” the Doctor grumbled. She dropped the boxes and rummaged in her pockets

“No, you’ve got two.” Graham’s face widened with expectation at his brilliant joke, which seemed to go straight over the Doctor’s head. Ryan and Yaz just shook theirs until his face fell with disappointment.

The Doctor, finally finding what she was looking for, pulled her hand out of her pocket, brandishing four little metal pieces. The dog, the shoe, the hat and, for some reason, an otter.

“Since when does Monopoly have an otter?” asked Yaz.

“Since the Great Otter Uprising of 2115.”

Everyone blinked stupidly with disbelief at that, while the Doctor’s face remained totally still, totally serious. It sounded ridiculous, but then again, so did everything with the Doctor. Ryan could never tell when she was serious or just being silly, taking the piss out of the dumb primitive humans.

It was really rather annoying.

But the Doctor wasn’t one to be cruel. Just daft. Maybe she was serious and Ryan would never be able to go to a zoo or down by the river ever again.

The metal counters disappeared back inside the Doctor’s pocket and the four of them went back to looking for a game to play that they could all agree on.

“Ooh, Scrabble! How about Scrabble? Me and Grace used to play every Saturday night.”

“Did you play too, Ryan?” asked Yaz and he could see the gleam in her eye that meant he was in for a lifetime of mockery if he admitted to playing even once.

“No,” he said quickly. “I actually have a life.”

Graham snorted. “Since when? Moping about in your room all weekend is hardly the epitome of a social life.”

“I wasn’t moping.” Ryan glowered at them all, except no one was even listening to him. Typical! He used to be cool. Even with the dyspraxia he’d been one of the cool ones. His scores on Call of Duty had helped a lot in that regard, of course.

Now that he was travelling through all of time and space, he should have been even cooler. But it was hard to be cool when your Grandad was constantly asking for fistbumps or when the alien you travelled with thought a bumbag was the height of fashion.

“Well then, in honour of Grace…” The Doctor took a box from one of the opened cupboards and the four of them gathered around the table. “Scrabble it is.”

“‘Scrabble: 5000X Edition’,” Ryan read from the lid. ‘“Now with fifty-four more letters.’ How can you have fifty-four more letters?”

“Language evolves, Ryan,” the Doctor explained. “Keep up.”

*

The rules made no sense, Ryan decided a little over an hour into the game. And he wasn’t thinking that just because he was in third place.  _ Mostly  _ wasn’t anyway.

This was unlike any version of Scrabble he had ever played before.

For starters, they got ten tiles instead of seven and there was a little green box with a red button that got pressed at the end of each round, and a little display screen would declare things like “LETTER B WORTH 50 POINTS” and “NO VOWELS ALLOWED” and, for one ridiculous round, “EYES CLOSED NO PEEKING”.

Ryan had  _ lost _ points that round and ended up knocking half the tiles off the board.

Now it was Graham’s turn again and had been for the last fifteen minutes.

“Oh my God, would you hurry up,” Ryan snapped. The sound of his voice startled Yaz out of her daze of staring at the Doctor from the opposite side of the table. This Ryan was doing his best to politely ignore, but honestly, if she started drooling…

“Whut, whose go is it?” Yaz mumbled.

“Still Graham’s.”

“Oh.” She went back to watching the Doctor although, for the life of him, Ryan couldn’t see what was so captivating. The Doctor had been staring at her own set of tiles for ages; the longest he had ever seen her sit still. Her nose and forehead were scrunched up with so much concentration there was enough lines on her face to write a Shakespeare sonnet on. Not that Ryan even really  _ liked _ Shakespeare, but the Doctor had bragged once about meeting him and he sounded like a half decent bloke.

“I’m  _ thinking _ , Ryan,” said Graham, not bothering to look up. “Maybe if you did more of that yourself, paid a bit more attention to your own letters, then you wouldn’t be losing.”

“I’m not  _ losing.” _ Third place, technically, was still a win. Sort of.

And then, finally, annoyingly, with just a hint of self satisfied preening, Graham placed all ten of his tiles on the board. LIQUIDISING. “Ha! One hundred and sixty points and a quadruple word score, so that’s six hundred and forty and a bonus of three hundred for using all my tiles. Get in!”

“How,” Ryan mouthed, still unable to understand the scoring system (which seemed to change every round) and eventually just deciding to give up trying.

Next it was the Doctor’s turn. Thankfully, unlike Graham, she did not take forever to play. She did, however, also attempt to use all of her tiles.

“Crimbinaah,” Ryan tried to say, although on the board it looked more like C🜇↑MB↓⊼@A⊖.

“It’s pronounced ‘chinbum’,” said the Doctor proudly.

“Eh, that ain’t a word,” said Graham.

“Yes it is. Very famous word. Used all the time on the fifth moon of Ka-Fla-Ka Delta.”

“Use it in a sentence then,” Yaz challenged.

“I just did. It’s pronounced chinbum,” she repeated. “See?” The Doctor flashed a grin that quickly faded as the three of them stared blankly at her.

“Nah, Doc. Sorry. Three against one,” said Graham. “Try again.”

The Doctor pouted so hard it was difficult to remember she was thousands of years old and not a five year old denied a biscuit before dinner time. She removed some of her tiles (most of them), took a moment to rearrange the rest of them (her tongue sticking out with concentration), and was finally left with CRAB.

“Minus seven hundred points,” Graham announced with that unmistakable hint of glee that all soon to be board game champions inevitably inherit.

_ “What?” _

“You forgot the letter C is forfeit for five more rounds,” Yaz pointed out with some sympathy.

“Awh, coulda warned me.” The pout was back. The arms were crossed. Ryan thought he was about to witness his first Time Lord temper tantrum.

“And give you an advantage?” scoffed Graham. As if  _ he _ even needed an advantage at this point considering he was in the lead by several hundred points.

Glowering, the Doctor sat back in her chair with a huff. “Whose stupid idea was it to play this stupid game?”

“You’re now negative a thousand points,” said Graham helpfully, just to rub it in. “That’s you firmly in last place and out for the next three rounds with a penalty of minus fifty points per turn for the rest of the game cos you used a C.”

“Yes  _ thank you, _ Graham.”

Ryan took his turn, then Yaz. He was still in the negative, not far off the zero mark, but at least he wasn’t  _ last. _ That he could live with.

At Graham’s turn again they settled in for another long wait while the Doctor continued to sulk. So no one was paying her any attention, not until the distinctive sound of a sonic screwdriver was heard, even if she did try to muffle it with her coat.

A brief buzz and all the tiles on the board suddenly flipped up into the air. With a clatter they landed on the table, on the floor and the electronic points display at the top of the board flashed, replacing each of their scores with a series of dots and then finally settling on 0000. 

“Whoops. Turbulence.” The Doctor jumped to her feet. “Time to play something else.”

“Turbulence?” Graham repeated incredulously, the only one out of the three humans remotely annoyed at the abrupt end to the game. “Since when does the vacuum of space have wind to make turbulence?”

“Space turbulence, Graham,” the Doctor said airly. “Plasma waves. Time  _ winds. _ Shush, it’s a thing.”

“And we all  _ heard _ the sonic.”

“Sonic? What sonic?” The Doctor’s feigned innocence fooled no one - even Yaz was giving her the stink eye - but she was already sweeping the tiles back into the box.

In the instant before the lid slammed over the whole lot, Ryan was sure he had caught a glimpse of the scores changing again. Now it read ONE MILLION underneath the ‘D’ for Doctor and, underneath the ‘G’: MINUS SEVEN TRILLION.

“I think you’re starting to lose your marbles, Graham. Have you eaten today? We all know you get confused with low blood sugar.”

“I’ll give you low blood sugar,” Graham grumbled.

“We’ll call that one a draw, yeah?” said Yaz diplomatically. Ever the negotiator, she took a careful step in between the Doctor and Graham as they glared at each other. And then, to Ryan, she muttered: “Let’s play something she can’t sonic.” He agreed and they went rummaging through the cupboards while the Doctor and Graham bickered in the background.

They also went in search of something normal with normal rules, but every edition of a game they vaguely recognised was clearly from after their time.

“How about Operation?” Yaz suggested, grabbing the box. The picture on the lid looked fairly normal. No alien to dissect, just the same white bloke with the red nose. Although Ryan didn’t fancy his chances at winning this particular game. He wasn’t exactly the champion of dexterity.

“She defo can sonic this though,” said Ryan, but before they could find something else the Doctor bounced up to them.

“Ooh yes. I’m a doctor. Right up my street this. Definitely probably played this before and  _ won.” _ A not so subtle glare of smugness was shot in Graham’s direction.

“Oh, you’re on, Doc.” Graham rubbed his hands together. “Been building and collecting model ships in a bottle since I was nine. Nimble hands, me.”

“Ship in a bottle?” said Yaz.

Ryan shook his head in vague embarrassment. “Don’t ask. There’s boxes in the loft full of the things.”

The Doctor was elected to go first. Mainly because she pushed the others out of the way and grabbed the tweezers before anyone else could.

“Wait,” said Yaz firmly and held out a hand. “Sonic.”

The Doctor pouted but relented and Yaz gave Ryan the screwdriver which he put on top of one of the cupboards, high out of the Doctor’s reach.

“Right,” said Yaz when that was done and she didn’t so much as remind Ryan of a police officer but his scary Year 7 French teacher who could silence the class with one look. “You can carry on.”

The Doctor clicked the tweezers experimentally.

“Hang on, aren’t you supposed to pick a card first?” said Ryan. Yaz picked up the little instruction pamphlet to check as the Doctor blatantly ignored them both and went straight for the funny bone. The tweezers had barely reached the ‘operating table’ when there was a loud buzz and the nose flashed red.

“That was just a practice go!” the Doctor insisted loudly. “Board game etiquette rules state-”  _ Buuuuuzzzzzzzz.  _ “Bugger.”

“Right, my turn.” Graham snatched the tweezers from the Doctor’s grip and elbowed her out of the way. “It’s all in the fingers,” he said, flexing them with a flourish.

Then, in what Ryan was sure was a deliberate move to annoy the Doctor, Graham started with the funny bone, pulling it out easily and swiftly. He didn’t even give himself time to be smug about it before moving on to the Adam’s apple. One by one, he went around the little cartoon man, pulling out pieces of plastic. The buzzer didn’t go off once.

“And that, my friends, is how you do it.” The wink directed at Ryan and the held out fist went unreciprocated, not that it seemed to bother Graham in the slightest. He was too busy basking in his win.

“Well you must have cheated,” the Doctor decided, staring suspiciously at Graham, then at the cardboard man and plastic pieces and back to Graham again. “Yaz, tell him he cheated.”

“Technically,” said Yaz, dropping the instructions back into the box with a resigned sigh, “you both cheated.”

“Oi. Whose side are you on?” There was a flash of indignant Time Lord. “My turn to pick a game. One where  _ no one,” _ she stared pointedly at Graham, “can cheat.”

“And you can win?” said Ryan.

The look the Doctor shot him screamed  _ obviously. _

“I didn’t cheat,” Graham muttered, looking rather miffed.

“Whatever happened to ‘it’s the taking part that counts’?” asked Yaz, but she was smiling at the Doctor.

“Only losers and grown ups ever said that.” The Doctor bent to search low in one of the cupboards. “I’m sure it’s here… Aha!” She spun around, brandishing a new board game. “I was Prydonian Academy Twister champion three centuries in a row. Beat that, Graham.”

At the sight of the Doctor whipping out the white mat covered in coloured dots, Ryan’s heart sank. He had only ever played Twister once in his life at a mate’s birthday party when he was eight. A party that was cut short due to the birthday boy’s broken nose, the birthday cake lying in a mushed heap on the dining room floor, and Ryan fruitlessly apologising over and over again, barely managing to hold off bursting into tears until Mum turned up to take him home.

“Um,” said Ryan. “Best not.”

“Yeah,” said Yaz, who hadn’t been at the Twister birthday party fiasco but instead had heard about it, along with the rest of the primary school, the following Monday. “Let’s find something we can all play.”

“I can’t play that,” said Graham, looking horrified. “I’m an old man.”

“Well so am I,” said the Doctor. Pushing the table over to one side of the room and flinging her coat on top of it. She paused with a frown. “Wait, no… Old  _ woman. _ Doesn’t stop me. Not scared of  _ losing, _ are you, Graham?”

A scowl marred Graham’s features.

Ryan had never known his Grandad to be so competitive. He wondered if Nan had ever seen this side of him. It wasn’t exactly pretty.

“Right!” In a bold move, Graham shrugged off his cardigan, his steely gaze never leaving the Doctor’s. “Ryan, you can spin the thingy.”

“Fine,” said Ryan. At Yaz’s concerned look he shrugged. “This could be entertaining.”

And he was right, it was.

At first it was all ‘right foot red’ and ‘left hand yellow’ and then, for Graham’s first go: “Eighth tentacle blue.”

“Eh?”

“Come on, Graham,” said the Doctor cheerily from where she crouched on the floor with her left hand on yellow, “show us your tentacles.”

“Tentacles?” For some reason, Graham appeared offended, as if someone had just insulted his mother and his gran and bus drivers in general. He grabbed the box and stared. “I’m not playing this if it hasn’t got proper bits. What if it says… Ryan, gimme that.” He reached for the spinner but Ryan clutched it protectively to his chest.

“Nope. I’m spin master. Place your tentacle. The eighth one, mind.” He grinned. Spluttering perplexion was a new look for Graham. Ryan rather liked it.

“I don’t have  _ one _ tentacle, never mind eight!”

“Well, guess you’re out then, Graham,” said the Doctor. “I win!”

“Ahem.” Yaz cleared her throat.

“Oh yeah, right. Sorry, Yaz. Forgot you were playing.” The Doctor cleared her throat sheepishly. “Spin again, Ryan!”

Ryan spun. Then spun again. More feet and hands. Blue, red. Blue, until the Doctor and Yaz were a tangle of limbs hovering above the floor. Ryan, accidentally on purpose, was careful not to land on any of the tentacle ones. He could envision this board game marathon lasting for decades if the Doctor didn’t win some time soon.

“Right hand green.”

“Ow,” said Yaz. “Watch it!”

“Sorry,” the Doctor said, her voice muffled by the chin in Yaz’s shoulder. “These stupid arms should be longer.”

“Well they’re not,” Yaz complained. “So go  _ under.” _

“I wanna go top.”

“Really, Doctor,” Ryan warned. Demolished birthday cake flashed across his vision. “Don’t go over.”

“I’m going over.”

She went over.

It wasn’t so much a hand on green but the tip of a finger. Which shook violently for a moment before the Doctor steadied herself. “Ha!”

Yaz let out a heavy breath, but managed to keep up her impression of a crab despite most of the Doctor’s weight now resting on top of her.

“Right, Yaz.” Ryan spun the arrow again. “Left hand… sixth dimension purple. Whut?”

“Awh, that’s an easy one,” the Doctor whined. “That’s not fair.”

“But I can’t see in six dimensions!”

“Sorry then, Yaz.” The Doctor did not sound sorry. “You lose.”

It was at that particular moment that she decided to give her right index finger a rest. This resulted in her falling fully on top of Yaz, sending them both crashing to the floor in a heap. Bodies pressed tightly together, lips barely a breath apart. Ryan coughed awkwardly and looked away.  _ Well at least they still have clothes on,  _ he thought, trying to cheer himself up.

“Did I win?” the Doctor asked hopefully.

“I don’t think anybody won,” said Ryan, staring blissfully at his trainers.

“This is stupid,” Yaz snapped. “I want a game of skill not one relying on pure chance and questionable limbs.” It was with some reluctance that she pushed the Doctor off of her and climbed to her feet. Her hands were trembling, Ryan noticed, her cheeks flushed pink and he bit back a smirk at her obvious flusteredness. The Doctor wasn’t doing much better, deliberately avoiding looking anywhere near Yaz’s direction and and pulling her coat back on as if more layers would make this all any less embarrassing for everyone.

“Chess?” said the Doctor. “I’m good at chess.”

_ I’ll bet, _ Ryan thought while Yaz scowled. She looked ready to fight. Who knew competitive boardgaming was so contagious?

“I know a game,” said Ryan.

*

“Arm wrestling?” Graham took a sceptical bite of his sandwich. He had disappeared halfway through Twister in search of fresh food and was only now returning.

Ryan shrugged. “I thought it would go quick.”

He was wrong. Yaz and the Doctor were at a stalemate. So much for aliens having super strength.

“How long they been at this?”

Ryan shrugged. “A while.”

They watched the two women and it was like watching some bizarre alien mating ritual. Hands clasped, gazes locked, the Doctor and Yaz may as well have been the only ones left in the universe for all the attention they paid it.

Well this was definitely boring. Ryan decided to have a nose about in case he accidentally saw something his eyes would never forgive him for seeing.

“How long you two going to keep this up?” asked Graham.

“Until someone wins,” said Yaz.

There was only one unopened cupboard left in the room. Ryan had a look through it. This one was empty of board games, instead packed to the brim with playing cards. As far as he could tell, none of them were in a proper deck. Almost as if  _ someone _ had just thrown them in there willy nilly.

“You alright there, Doc?”

“Yes, Graham.” But the Doctor sounded breathless, like she had just run from a hungry Pting and one of her hearts had decided to pack in. “Urghh. This is no use. State of temporal grace: no violence aboard the TARDIS.”

“We’re hardly being violent,” Yaz pointed out. The muscles in her arm were clenched tight, but apart from that she looked perfectly relaxed, was even enjoying herself.

“Well the TARDIS seems to think so.” Despite this so called ‘temporal grace’, the Doctor still sounded like she was trying her hardest to flatten Yaz’s arm.

Ryan shut the cupboard on the mess of cards. There was nothing else of interest in the room - well, just the slot machine.

It didn’t  _ look _ cursed.

Ryan had always wanted to go to Vegas. He wasn’t much of a gambler - the odd pound on a footie match was about all he was willing to part with - but there was something about the lure of bright lights, clinking coins, the roll of the dice… Maybe he could ask the Doctor to take them there next, since they were all in a gaming mood.

Or… Maybe not. Might end in disaster. Usually did with the Doctor.

He looked at the slot machine again. Circa 1969, the Doctor had said. Maybe give that particular decade a miss though. He’d had enough racism to last several lifetimes after Montgomery, Alabama.

The reels of the slot machine were stuck between symbols. Half a duo of cherries and the tip of a golden bell. The last was stuck in between, showing nothing but white. As he stared though, the sounds of his friends fading into the background, the reels began to move. Not the movement of a fresh spin, but the persistent flicker of a lightbulb on the blink. Up, down, up, down, up, down, just a fraction, as if the machine’s inner cogs were stuck.

Ryan blinked and the machine went still. Underneath the three symbol reels was a small display window he hadn’t noticed before. In red capital letters, it informed him the game had a free spin.

In some far away place, like a long lost memory, he could hear his grandad’s voice, but the words were lost to him, like the sound of wind through a forest of leaves.

What harm was one spin?

The handle of the lever was a gleaming gold and oddly warm to Ryan’s touch.

There was a crash behind him, loud enough to wake the world and “Ryan, no!” but he was already pulling, the reels already spinning.

The first one fell into place, then the next. Finally the last stilled and 777 in brilliant red, like fresh blood, stared back at him.

The light on top of the machine flashed, but it wasn’t the comforting flash of the TARDIS coming in to land. Tinkling music began to play, trying to be cheery as it announced the new jackpot winner, but it sounded harsh to Ryan, all wonky like an old vinyl with too many scratches.

And, in the pay out dish, instead of coins rattling to a fall, there was a thick, black smoke slithering its way out of the machine like a coiled snake.

There was a brief moment of clarity as Ryan realised he had just done something incredibly stupid, just before the world went silent with a brilliant white and Ryan Sinclair was no more.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me updating this after three months.... So sorry to happierhere who this fic was originally for (great prompt by the way) but my dumb brain gave it a plot then I felt guilty for not working on my original novel and ignored fandom stuff for awhile. I've had Thirteen and thasmin on my brain recently and I finally got back into this and got super excited for the conclusion :D

Yasmin Khan blinked until the world faded back into its normal hue.

She wasn't where she had been.

Where she had been was a room with a table and chairs, filled with games and all her friends. Where she was now... a corridor. A TARDIS corridor - she recognised the roundels in the walls. Time Lord architecture didn't have much variation.

But why? What had happened?

Board games and arm wrestling, the Doctor's hand in hers and then...

There had been panic. Panic in the Doctor's eyes. Raw and so completely terrifying because the Doctor never panicked. Not like _that._

A shout, that creepy tinkling music and -

And white so brilliant she thought the world had ended.

Yaz remembered now. The white light, the sensation of being nothing. It was the feel of a transmat beam - she could recognise it despite her limited experience. If she had to guess, she would put good money on it being the TARDIS itself that had transported her. Just her? She didn't think so. She hoped not. _Something_ had come out of that slot machine.

Cursed - of course it was true. Of course the Doctor had just kept it around for safe keeping. And _of course_ Ryan just had to go play with it.

She was going to kill him.

Just as soon as she found him. And the Doctor. Whatever weird alien curse thing had just been unleashed, the Doctor would be in the thick of it and that was exactly where Yaz wanted to be too.

Problem was, all the corridors in the TARDIS looked the same. They were endless. She had no idea how far she might have been transported from the room with the slot machine, no idea where the console room might be. No clue as to where to even begin to find her way to some place familiar. A person could starve in this maze of Time Lord technology.

That had been Graham's first worry upon coming aboard the TARDIS. Yaz, however, couldn't wait to begin exploring. Every day she went a little bit further and every day she noticed the corridors and rooms she had tried to memorise would have moved. A room closer to the bedrooms where they slept after an exhausting day on an alien planet, a corridor made slightly longer to add a bathroom onto the end of it. There was no map to guide her through the alien ship. All she could do was pick a direction and hope for the best.

Yaz walked and walked and the walls around her seemed to shift, like they were alive and watching. And she knew it was true, that the TARDIS was watching, guiding her by dimming the lights when she made a choice between two passageways, forcing her to go back the other way. But which way was that? To the Doctor or to safety?

Safety was tempting when her heart was hammering so hard in her chest she could almost hear it. But Yaz was no coward. A copper's instincts was pointed towards trouble and that was where Yaz had to go. She would not let the Doctor face whatever that thing was alone.

Up ahead, she heard a noise like the scraping of flint against steel. Yaz stilled, listening hard. It wasn't a sound she was used to hearing in the TARDIS. There had been too many nights lying awake, brain racing with all that had happened since meeting the Doctor. She was familiar with the TARDIS's hums and creaks, the great screeching of the engines as the Doctor landed them in a new time, a new place. This sound, this scraping, was something new.

Even as she moved towards it, she could hear Graham's voice in her head. Telling her not to be so daft, run the other way. He would preach caution and concern, yet she knew fine well he would follow her towards the sound. She loved that about him. That he would never let any of them face danger alone no matter how scared he was himself. He would put his fear and grief - and yes even hatred - aside and do that right thing. Always the right thing.

The sound grew louder, more distinct the closer she got. Definitely some sort of metal rubbing against something hard. She turned a corner and found herself in a large open space. The ceiling was high and bright, the blue of an Earth sky in summer. All around she was surrounded by plants and trees. None whatsoever that she recognised. Tall, gangly alien things with purple trunks and silver leaves. Flowers with petals that glimmered like glitter and smelled like candy floss.

Yaz grinned, inhaling deeply, eyes hardly knowing where to look. She had never seen anything so beautiful, had never imagined a place so alive and colourful to be in the heart of a spaceship. She could hear the buzz of insects, the chirping of birds. She looked hard, high up into the furthest reaches of those tallest trees; a flicker of movement and something with the wingspan of a bus flew fast above her. There was so much flora she couldn't tell how far the arboretum stretched, but she knew it could be miles. There was no limit to the TARDIS's wonders.

Bending to inspect a small shrub with blue leaves and bulging gold fruits shaped like stars, Yaz heard the ominous scraping sound again. It was a sound that did not belong in a place full of so much nature. An alien sound, so jarring it reminded her she wasn't on a planet. This was still the TARDIS and something else, something _bad_ , was aboard and her friends were in danger.

Yaz followed the sound, cautious now. She crept over fallen branches and grass that flickered through all the colours of the rainbow. Her bright orange jumper blended in perfectly with her surroundings.

The scraping grew louder, louder. The closer she got, the more familiar it became. The sound of an automatic sliding door, caught upon something and unable to close. Back and forth the doors open and closed, hitting off the thing that prevented them from shutting. Yaz bent back a dangling branch with leaves the shape of diamonds. There was an end to this place after all. A huge wall, the TARDIS roundels barely visible behind hanging vines. And there, right in front of her, was the door.

For a moment, she couldn't see what was keeping it ajar. Her eyes saw, but her brain refused to process it, to accept it. Then the thing _moved_ and Yaz cried out, "Ryan!"

There was a groan, a few muttered words Ryan would never have dared say in front of his nan had she still been alive. He lay flat on the floor, his arms spread out. It was his left one that had caught the sliding door, the metal strap of his watch hitting off it to make that awful scraping sound. Now that she was closer though, Yaz realised the sound was barely there at all. It was as if the TARDIS had amplified it to bring her here. Yaz gave the walls a grateful look and helped Ryan climb to his feet.

"What happened?" he said. "Where... Have we landed?" He stared bemused at all the trees.

"Nah, still on the TARDIS," said Yaz. "And _you_ happened."

"Me?"

"Yeah you. Cursed slot machine. Lever. You pulled it."

"Oh," said Ryan. "Yeah." Yaz glared. "Well how was I supposed to know _this_ would happen." He gestured around them. His arm stilled in mid air as a large squawk sounded above them. "Erm… What exactly _did_ happen?" He stared warily at the bird thing until it disappeared into the throng of trees.

"I think the TARDIS transported us. Away from whatever that thing... Seriously couldn't have just left it alone?" She felt a swell of anger and let it settle in her gut. It was easier to deal with than the worry she felt over the still missing Doctor and Graham.

"Ugh, stop goin' on about it."

"Well... why would you touch something that the Doctor said was cursed?" Honestly, had he learned _nothing_ during their time with the Doctor? Don't pull random levers, ignore big red buttons. Do as the Doctor says...

"Yeah, well. I was bored."

"Bored?"

"And uncomfortable."

Yaz frowned. "Why?"

"Oh come off it, you know why."

"No, I don't..."

But Ryan was wandering away, back through the door he had been stuck in. The corridor they stepped out into was astonishing in its stale orthodoxy. Yaz gave a regretful look back to the arboretum and her last glimpse of purple trees before the doors slid shut and hid them from view.

"We were just supposed to be playing a few games, passing time. And you two had to go and make it weird. _Again."_

"Ryan, I have no idea what you're going on about."

He scoffed and went silent and Yaz decided to wait him out. She could be patient, when she wanted to be. Interrogation 101: keep quiet and let the suspect grow so nervous all they can do is fill the silence.

It was surprising how often that particular technique actually worked.

"You and the bloody Doctor," he said eventually. "You ever gonna make a proper move or what?"

"What do you-" she began. Then her eyes widened. Was she that obvious? _Oh my God,_ she was. "Shut up," Yaz blurted.

"Cos it's getting annoying now," Ryan went on.

"Shut up."

"Like, uncomfortably annoying. As in 'could cut the sexual tension with a knife' annoying."

_"Shut up."_

Ryan grinned. "Wow, you really have no idea."

"You're talking nonsense, Ryan Sinclair. Shut up and help me find the others."

_Oh God, oh God, oh God._

She hadn't meant... It was just a stupid crush. Admittedly one that was growing bigger every day, but _still._

_I want more. More time with you..._

Inwardly, Yaz groaned. _Oh God._ Okay, maybe it wasn't exactly a tiny crush anymore, maybe she was rubbish at hiding it, and, maybe, the more time she spent with the Doctor, the more Yaz learned about this amazing, ancient alien, the deeper she fell...

"Oh my God," she groaned. Ryan chuckled. "Shut up, it isn't funny."

"Yes it is," said Ryan. She shoved him in a way that she would have shoved her sister had it been Sonya tormenting her. Playful but with enough force to announce she meant business.

This was a disaster. Did the Doctor know? Did the Doctor pity her, think she was pathetic? Did she cringe inwardly every time Yaz looked her way, opened her mouth and spoke before her brain could catch up and stop her? _More time with you._ Why would this beautiful, brilliant person, who had seen and done so much, even look twice and a girl like Yaz? She wouldn't. Of course she wouldn't. Yaz was just a speck in the ocean compared to the whole world that was the Doctor's existence. All of time and space and the Doctor had it all at her fingertips. She could never want or need someone like Yaz.

"What am I going to do?" she muttered woefully. Because Ryan was right; she was making things awkward and uncomfortable for everyone.

It had been the same at school. Kissing Izzy Flint at the back of the bus on the way back after a school trip. She had done it out of impulse because Izzy was being cute, had been kind and attentive to Yaz all day and she had loved the attention, had felt the flutter in her chest that would not go away, only intensified whenever Izzy would look her way.

And then that stupid kiss.

It wasn't even a proper kiss - nothing compared to that make out session with Danny Biswas after she'd climbed in his window - just a quick graze, their lips dry from the November cold, cheeks red and Yaz's growing redder by the second. It barely lasted a second but it was long enough to change everything. School had never been the same after that. Her friendship with Izzy was ruined, never to be recovered.

The kiss was only partly to blame; Izzy's reaction afterwards was what made things worse. Calling Yaz a dyke and every other colourful and nasty insult she could think of. Bad mouthing her to the whole class, especially the girls. _Don't get too close or the lezzie will jump ya._ And all the boys smirking knowingly and asking if they could watch next time.

She wasn't even a lesbian. At fourteen, she didn't even know there was a _word_ for what she was, that it was okay to like both boys and girls and that she wasn't a bad person because of it.

The rest of the entire year had been awful, isolating. Mum kept turning up at school asking the head to sort it out. Not that Yaz ever dared tell her parents what was really going on. Just normal bullying. Her school hadn't exactly been swimming with fellow Muslims and Yaz was awkward and nerdy - there was a lot to pick on and kids were nasty.

Then along came a new school year and exams and hormones and everyone kind of got bored of shouting lezzer at her in the corridors, especially since Yaz had gotten good at ignoring it and walking past with her head held up high.

It was good training for being a police officer where 'paki' got shouted at her by drunken racist idiots on a daily basis. Her skin grew thicker and she learned to let it go, do her job, not react and let them win. There were other ways of winning that didn't involve her losing her temper. But it had been a hard lesson to learn. And she was still learning.

"I'd draw you a picture," said Ryan, "but I'm no expert."

Yaz let out one long, frustrated sigh.

"Sorry," Ryan said meekly. "I didn't mean... I thought it was okay - that you were okay about people knowing that you... ya know, like girls."

"No, it's okay." It wasn't like she tried to hide it. Mum and Dad knew, Nan and Sonya too. It was kept quiet amongst the more religious extended family. But she was out at work, at home - just not, apparently, to the rest of the universe and the person her current crush was directed at. Although if Ryan could see it... others probably could too. _Fuck._

"I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset." She wasn't. Freaked out was the term she would use. "Can we just stop talking about this now." And maybe never ever mention it again.

She would just have to try harder at hiding it, she decided. Maybe she could ignore it; long enough and it might just go away. Avoid the source of the problem and future awkward situations.

It was funny though; a spaceship bigger on the inside, its dimensions unmappable and yet Yaz felt she was rarely alone anymore. They explored alien worlds, random points in time; saved civilisations and stopped wars and at the end of it all, the four of them would crawl back to the TARDIS, exhausted, eat something quickly and pass out. The next morning they got up and did it all over again, the Doctor's whims all fulfilled with the push of a button and the TARDIS's screeching engines. The only time Yaz was ever alone these days was when she was unconscious. And even then a certain blonde alien was a frequent visitor to her dreams.

"Ever fancy someone you shouldn't?" asked Yaz, hoping for some advice, a magic pill to make it all go away.

Ryan sighed. "Yeah," he breathed. One word that sounded alone and forlorn, so filled with pain and regret it was a wonder it had even made it out of his mouth.

Something resonated within Yaz then - a shared sympathy, a shared suffering.

"A boy?" she asked.

Ryan stiffened, his mouth opening to object, to convey denial. Because sometimes denial was easier than the realities of the truth. But instead he let out a long sigh, as if he just couldn't keep it inside any longer.

"I never told anyone... Nan died before I could." He watched his feet, the small steps that thudded gently along the corridor. "I'm not ashamed," he added quickly. "I just..."

"I know." And she did. She had been terrified of telling her parents, even though she _knew_ they would never love her any less. But sometimes you just weren't sure. Something that big, this whole part of you that had been yours and hidden so long; sharing it was like handing over you heart while it was still hammering away, exposed and fragile.

"I think she would have been proud of you," said Yaz. She hadn't known Grace long or well, but you got the sense of a person from the way those closest to them spoke. "And Graham will be too - when you're ready to tell him."

"Yeah," said Ryan with a shrug. "Maybe."

He scuffed his feet along the floor and, for a moment, he was five years old again, sharing his lunch with the new girl, so quiet and shy. Yasmin Khan had made her first friend on the playground that day.

She hated, suddenly, how secondary school had split them apart. She would have liked to have known Ryan better during those years, when they were still discovering themselves.

"Don't think I don't notice you slyly changing the subject, Officer Khan." He grinned at her so widely it was like the topic of himself had never happened.

Yaz let it slide, rolling her eyes with a smile. "No idea what you mean, Mr Sinclair."

He snorted. "'Kay, so then I won't tell you all about how the Doctor fancies you too."

Yaz froze. All of her; muscles stiff and bones solid like fossilised rock. All except her heart which had just cranked up a gear, leaving her light headed and sick.

"What? - Shut up."

Ryan laughed, his head shaking. "So bloody clueless. Would be funny if it wasn't so embarrassing."

"Yeah, whatever," she muttered for lack of a better comeback. She was barely paying attention to him now anyway, her mind too busy reeling. _The Doctor fancies you too._

Was it - could it be?

She hardly dared let herself think it. Because if she thought it, opened her heart to it, then her brain would kick off with the mental pictures of what could be.

But the pictures were all normal, human things. Family dinners and snuggling on the couch in front of the TV, slow kisses and lazy sunday mornings.

None of which screamed the Doctor.

All of time and space - the Doctor was hardly going to give it all up for Yasmin Khan. And Yaz would never ask her to.

"Yaz?" Ryan's hand on her arm grabbed her attention more than the sudden hushedness of his voice. "You hear that?"

She listened, hearing nothing but the hum of the TARDIS and her own flailing voice in her head.

"No-"

Then there it suddenly was.

A wailing, like the wind.

Except it wasn’t the wind. It was… something else.

Thick like smoke, but more solid than that. It billowed like steam, rising up towards them, undulating, growing bigger. More defined, until the smoke was a black mass, humanoid in shape, but so very much bigger. A gaping maw where a mouth could be. Wider and wider it opened, like the jaws of a crocodile, revealing a black hole of nothing that threatened to consume them.

And out of that hole, that mouth, a terrible screech of fury, a battle cry of the Gods. It filled Yaz’s ears, her head, sharp and biting. She cried out, startled by the sudden brutality of it. Beside her, his elbow knocking against her shoulder, Ryan clapped his hands over his ears, his face scrunched up against the pain. And all the while that _thing_ , that mass of black and rage, descended upon them.

“Ryan!” Yaz yelled, pushing him behind her. “Run.”

He did not need telling twice and Yaz was hot on his heels. Behind her, the screeching turned into a wail of anguish, decibels rising in a crescendo that left Yaz shaking.

Ahead of them, the TARDIS corridors mutated, a convoluted zigzag that took them away from the wailing creature. The time ship was helping them in the only way it could, trapping the creature in such a maze of identical corridors it would never be able to follow them.

But no matter how fast, how far Yaz ran, no matter the sound of blood rushing in her ears, her own panting gasps of breath, she could still hear that awful wailing inside her head. Not getting any lower. She glanced behind her as her feet thumped the floor. There was no sign of the thing. Nothing but corridor. She ran somewhere, hardly knowing where she was going, just following where the TARDIS led her, trusting that it would lead them to safety.

Ryan’s footsteps were some ways ahead, thumping just as hard as her own. But behind her the wail had began to diminish until all she could hear of it was the echo of it in her head. Still terribly horrible, but not unbearable. She slowed to a gentle jog.

 _No way it’s that easy._ No maze of corridors, no matter how intricate, could truly stop something as malevolent as that, could they?

She had stared into that endless black, felt the endless nothing, felt it hunger for _her_. It wanted them. It would consume them.

It would consume them all.

So where they hell was it?

Yaz had the sudden fear that she knew and it wasn’t just copper’s instinct that told her. It was their run of bad luck ever since coming aboard the blue box. Always, something chased them. Always, they ran. And always, the Doctor defeated it.

Her heart suddenly in her throat, Yaz felt sick. She didn’t like this, the four of them apart. Always they were better together.

The breaths became harder to inhale and she forced herself to stop, bend forward with her hands on her knees. A few deep breaths and she felt steady again. Worried, but steady.

Yaz looked up, expecting to find Ryan ahead of her, her mouth open ready to call to him to wait. They had to go back. They had to find the others.

This was what they did. Travelled through space and time, helping others, strangers, helping each other. They could not abandon the Doctor and Graham now. Yaz had never been the kind of person to run off and hide. In the thick of it she was, always.

The words died in her throat with a gasp.

Around her, the TARDIS corridors had changed shape again, leaving her in a dead end. Alone.

Wherever Ryan was now, Yaz had no hope of finding him.

*

Graham O’Brien was not having a good day. But, to be fair, Graham rarely had good days anymore. He was always running from something. Losing his lunch. Fearing for his life, his grandson.

Always, unequivocally worried that he was letting Grace down.

What would she think of the life he now lived? A life without her - and _that_ pained him, oh it pained him - a life filled with constant danger, constant running.

He was running _from_ her. That he knew. It took all of time and space to escape the pain and yet somehow it always managed to follow him, catch up with him. Like a punch to the gut it would leave him breathless, unable to move, and all he could do was weep her name and think _it wasn’t enough._

He could not let it go, let _her_ go. She was his wife, now and always, in life and in death. His Grace.

Grace who smiled with the brightness of the sun, whose hands were gentle and guiding, her tongue always there with an encouraging word, yet sharp enough to flail skin within a moment.

He missed her. He missed her… and he could not for the life of him remember her face.

“Graham.”

A woman’s voice. Not _hers_ (at least, he didn’t think it was hers, but he couldn’t be sure, not anymore) but the other’s… the Doctor.

“Graham... I need you to focus.” Her voice was firm, serious. Almost solemn. So different from the sulky, challenging childlike person that appeared during board games.

“It’s making you remember,” said the Doctor, sounding impossibly far away. “Making you remember so you can forget. You have to ignore it, Graham. _You have to fight it._ ”

Fight it, fight it, fight it…

_Fight what?_

He could not remember.

His wife - his wife would laugh and call him _grumpy old man_ yet he never felt old around her, was never grumpy as long as she was there. Always a man in his twenties, a whole new life ahead of him. His wife…

His wife-

He could not remember her name.

Abruptly, Graham O’Brien was very very frightened.

“What- what’s happening to me?”

He found the Doctor’s eyes, blurred and warped through the hazy cloud of memories; green and alien and worried. They grounded him. _I am Graham O’Brien. My wife- my wife is… My wife was_ Grace.

“I need you to run now Graham,” the Doctor told him, slow and soft like a primary school teacher painfully explaining to a five year old how to cross the road safely. Her hands reached out and gripped his shoulders tightly. “I need you to run and not look back. Find the others and get to the console room. Fast return switch - it’s the square blue one. Press it and get out. Make sure the door shuts properly behind you.”

“But what about you Doc?”

“Nevermind me. Just find the others.”

Find the others… Others?

 _Ryan_ , a voice whispered. Find Ryan and-

“Do you understand me Graham?”

He nodded. “Others… blue switch. Get out.”

_Ryan - Got to find Ryan._

“Okay, good.” The Doctor squeezed his shoulders. He felt the pressure of it in some far away place as if it were happening to someone else entirely. “When I count to three - you run. And Graham…”

“Doctor?”

“Whatever you do - _don’t_ look up.”

He trembled and it shamed him because surely she could feel it through her fingertips.

_One._

What was he to do again?

Run, always run.

_Two._

Find Ryan, keep him safe.

_Three…_

“Go!”

The Doctor’s firm grip vanished and he felt a slight nudge that made him stumble a few steps in the opposite direction. _Don’t look just run_. But what was there to look at anyway? His vision kept blurring in and out of focus, the gray TARDIS walls with their yellow glowing lights making his head ache.

Yet before him was a shape. He squinted and the yellow and blue mass morphed into the Doctor, her gaze away from him, looking up. Up at…

“Oh my God…”

 _Whatever you do -_ don’t _look up._

“What is that thing?” he gawped, frozen still at the sight of the black, wriggling mass above them. A void of nothing that beckoned him. Wisps of the black stuff coalesced like steam, curling downwards until it was solid and thick and endless. The tendrils ending in a sharp point. Hundreds of them… thousands… and all of them embedded in the Doctor’s skin where it was exposed.

“Graham,” the Doctor gasped, her hands clenched into tight fists. “ _Go._ ”

He did not need telling a third time.

Graham O’Brien ran.


	3. Part 3

She was lost. Lost in the labyrinth of time and space, running, running, running. Always running, never stopping.

She was he and he was him, tall and short and angry and too full of love. All of her, all of  _ them, _ separate yet one. Last of their kind. So very old and the last the last the last…

No. No… not quite.

She was forgetting. Remembering so she could forget.

The Mnemosyne.

One of the most dangerous creatures in the whole universe. Sucked on the memories of living things. Fed on them until nothing remained but an empty shell.

Vegas, 1969. A good year. A great city. Lights and laughter and fun fun fun. She had been young then, the face even younger. A TARDIS full of friends and adventure at their fingertips.

Until  _ it  _ came out of the dark. With its relentless, insatiable hunger.

The city swarmed with victims; no memory of who or what they were. Empty human shaped shells who would not survive for long, who would forget to sleep and eat and breathe.

And the Doctor, decked out in cricket beige, felt the abyss that awaited, felt the hunger, felt the hearts in his chest beat a too fast rhythm of  _ danger danger danger, run run run run! _

But instead of  _ away _ it was towards (always towards) and the Mnemosyne sucked and drank, the life of a Time Lord filling its belly.

_ I remember this, _ the Doctor thought now.  _ I remember Nyssa and Tegan and Adric and hours of slot machines and blackjack, the clatter of chips falling falling into our palms, laughing and drinking and enjoying being together and... and- _

And the memory began to falter, quake as it frayed at the edges.

_ And Nyssa screaming and darkness descending and nothing nothing nothing- _

With an ungentle tug, the memory tore from the Doctor's head. She reached for it with her mind, tried to grab hold, keep it within herself but it flew away like a leaf in the wind. Gone gone gone  _ lost. _

_ No! _

“All right, pal,” the Doctor addressed the great gaping black above, ignoring the stinging pain of its tendrils on her skin, its telepathic tongue roaming her brain. “You hungry? Well I'm a Time Lord and I'm just gorging with memories. So here - take them.”

Take them take them take them.

_ A Gallifreyan boy huddling with fear and loneliness in a barn. An academy for the elite, future Time Lords in the making all so uninterested in the rest of the universe. But not the lone boy who looked to the stars and dreamed of more. The child of time who finally found friends only for them to become enemies, become lost. Then the boy was a man, an old old man and he was running running running and it was the best the best, but oh so much injustice, so much to fight for, so much to learn. And then even more friends, even more family; Susan and Ian and Barbara and- _

_ No! _ the Doctor screamed.  _ Not them, you can’t have them. _

But it was too late, she remembered - remembered and forgot.

_ 1289, the Silk Road and Marco Polo… A silent planet in Galaxy 4… The city of Troy and a Trojan horse… The end of a life - that old first life - and the beginning of a new. So much pain, so much hope. And will I still be the Doctor?... Scotland 1745, English soldiers everywhere and Highlanders fleeing, fighting, screaming… Cybermen on the moon…  _

It was all too much. Too much.

In some distant part of the Doctor's mind that was still safe from the Mnemosyne's attack, she knew she was losing too much of herself. So she hid, burying it deep, keeping herself safe, leaving behind only nonsense surface thoughts.

_ The complete memorized works of Shakespeare -  _ Think, think! - _ Though this be madness, yet there is method in't… I am one who loved not wisely but too well…What’s in a name? A rose by any name would smell as sweet… To thine own self be true -  _ Not enough, not enough - _  The square root of pi is 1.77245385091… Knock knock. Who's there? Spell. Spell who? W.H.O… There's a starman waiting in the sky… The blobee, native to the planet Xerm IV, grows a total of five heads and sixteen limbs within its lifespan… These violent delights have violent ends... The twelve moons of Jupiter are- _

Take them, take them all. But they were only tiny, unfilling morsels to the creature above. It was not enough. It would never be enough.

_ One day I shall come back, yes one day... _

And it  _ hurt. _ The memories being torn from her, she could feel each of them as it went and knew they would forever be lost. And still it hungered. It hungered for  _ more. _ More of her.

All of her.

And when it was done…

It would seek out her friends. And it would find them. They could run run run but never hide. The Mnemosyne would hunt and feed and kill and the Doctor would be helpless to stop it.

*

It seemed to Yaz that the TARDIS was growing dimmer. The soft yellow glowing roundels along the walls grew duller with each step she took and she wondered just how much power it was costing the time ship to keep shifting its corridors, to guide its occupants away from danger. She didn’t like to think about what would happen when that power ran out - but as human as she was, her brain went there anyway and she remembered that feeling of the black void, the  _ nothingness _ that wanted to consume her, fill her.

It had only been for a moment. A moment before she and Ryan were running for their lives. But a moment was all it took and she knew she never wanted to feel that nothing again.

What  _ was  _ that thing? And why would the Doctor keep it aboard the TARDIS?

_ To keep it safe, _ she realised with certainty,  _ to keep it contained.  _ And it would have stayed that way if it hadn’t been for Ryan Sinclair. But it wasn’t really his fault, he couldn’t have known…

_ We’ll stop it,  _ Yaz decided firmly, _ we’ll stop it like we always do. The Doctor… she’ll know what to do. _

It was with that thought that Yaz rounded a corner and the hope that the thought had filled her with went draining away along with all the blood from her face.

She stood, frozen but for the trembling of her hands. Her breathing had stopped for too many heartbeats so that her next inhalation was a gasping gulp for air.

_ No no no no. _

The Doctor…

Yaz could barely comprehend what she was seeing. There was that black void again - a gaseous mass that floated above the Doctor’s head. It didn’t even seem real -  _ it can’t be real  _ \- and her mind tried to reject what she was seeing, tried to unsee the thick black tendrils that hung down like strands of ivy. Their tips pierced deep into the Doctor’s skin, drawing blood. And they were everywhere. Her face, her hands, her arms, the hollow part of her throat.

_ The Doctor bleeds red, _ Yaz thought and felt sick.

She wanted to shout, wanted to move, but her mouth wouldn’t let out more than a croak, her legs wouldn’t shift - it was like the bottom of her shoes had been plated with iron and the universe’s strongest magnet was holding her in place.

And then suddenly the black mass let out an ear aching wail, so loud Yaz felt it pierce her mind like someone had jabbed a long needle through her eye socket. She let out a muffled cry, barely remaining upright, her vision blurring so much she could hardly see what was happening in front of her.

The black mass was shifting, that much she could tell. And then there was a sound she never wanted to hear again in her life. A sound that ripped at her heart, left her gasping. It was a sound she knew would forever haunt her dreams.

The Doctor let out a scream of unimaginable pain.

Yaz forced herself to blink through the blurred vision until she could see clearly again and watched as the tendrils snapped away from the Doctor, retreating up into the black void above before disappearing like smoke. Without the tendrils to hold her up, the Doctor collapsed to the floor. A thump so heavy and loud it was like the giant had fallen from Jack’s beanstalk. And Yaz was moving, before she even knew that she could.

“Doctor!” She grabbed the other woman by the upper arms, careful of the bloody welts that covered her skin and dragged her away from the creature.

It was howling now. With a rage and hunger that Yaz could feel in her own belly. And it was coming for her.

Yaz moved as fast as she could, her arms aching with the weight of the Doctor. They had barely retreated a meter when the Doctor’s own legs began to work; clumsy, stumbling feet but it was enough to get her moving on her own, hastening their escape. Yaz pulled her along by one arm, not daring to let go.  _ Afraid  _ to let go, knowing that if she did, she would lose the Doctor to this thing. Lose her…

“Yaz?” the Doctor gasped, her voice hoarse and weak. “W-what?”

“Keep moving,” Yaz ordered, her eyes never leaving the black mass that was now creeping - although slow like a cloud in a deep blue sky - towards them as they backed away.

The TARDIS walls began to shift around them and before Yaz could do much more than let out a startled yelp, a thick heavy wall slid shut in front of them with a slam, trapping the creature on the other side.

“That won’t hold it,” the Doctor said, her face pale beneath the blood and welts left over from the creature’s attack. “That won’t… Yaz, you need to go.”

“No way,” said Yaz. “You can barely stand.”

To prove Yaz's point, the Doctor slumped against the nearest wall.

The Doctor shook her head. “There’s no time. It'll find its way around.”

“How do we stop it?” asked Yaz. She had no intention of leaving the Doctor. Not now, not ever.

“The slot machine - need to trap it again. But I won't… I won't reach it in time.”

“Then let me help.”

“No,” said the Doctor fiercely. “I might be able to keep it distracted long enough for you and the others to get out.”

“And then what?” Yaz recognised the stubborn set of the Doctor's jaw. It was the same look that had been there when they faced Tim Shaw for the second time, when a lone Dalek threatened to destroy the world. The same look when they went back to the Punjab, when Yaz risked unravelling her own timeline. 

“And then you live your life, Yasmin Khan.” The Doctor offered a weak smile and Yaz saw it for it what it really was. A goodbye.

But goodbye wasn't something Yaz was ready for. Wasn't something she would ever be ready for.

“I'm not leaving you,” she declared. “So we'll just have to find another way.”

“Yaz…” It took effort for the Doctor to speak, all her remaining strength. Yaz could see it, could feel it beneath the hand that still rested on the Doctor's arm. Yaz tried to will some of her own strength through that fragile link, but knew it would never be enough. If the Doctor faced that thing again, it would kill her.

“And when it defeats you?” said Yaz, her voice cracking around the words; yet she hardly cared that the emotion was plainly exposed for the Doctor to see. “When it gets out of the TARDIS and starts attacking everyone it can reach? What then?” 

For Yaz knew it to be inevitable. She had felt the creature’s hunger and knew it could cross the universe, consume everything and everyone and never be full.

Yaz didn’t know if the Doctor’s silence was her processing Yaz’s words or if she was simply too exhausted to argue.

“Besides,” Yaz added sensing she was weakening the Doctor’s resolve, “I know how much you hate to lose.” She smiled fondly at the memory of their afternoon of boardgames, the Doctor’s fierce and unrelenting competitiveness. It had been childish, but endearing and it was everything the Doctor was. Everyday she played a game; fought some new evil, and when she didn’t win… bad things happened.

But she didn’t have to do it alone. Yaz was here, Ryan and Graham were too, somewhere. They were a team, the four of them. And four against one was always way better odds.

“Let me help you,” Yaz whispered.  _ Please. _

“You could be lost,” the Doctor murmured in return. And for a moment, Yaz thought she saw something in those alien eyes - eyes that were sometimes green, sometimes brown; eyes that shone with time and the universe - something breaking, shattering into so many pieces it could never be made whole.

“And so could you.”

They were at a stalemate and time was running out. The creature had been quiet since the TARDIS wall had slammed into place like a prison cell, but now Yaz could hear that faint wailing wind.

It was coming.

She tried not to tremble and her hand gripped the Doctor’s arm a little tighter. She could feel the double pulse beat of two hearts beneath her palm, roaring with blood and fury and worry.

The Doctor tensed, hearing the creature too. “If I’m not quick enough…”

“You will be,” Yaz said with conviction and the Doctor nodded, moving from where she braced herself against the wall to cup Yaz’s cheeks in both her hands. Yaz felt her skin warm with a blush, felt the Doctor’s weight as she leaned into her, still weak from the creature’s attack.

“You brave, brilliant, beautiful human being, Yasmin Khan.” The Doctor’s forehead pressed against Yaz’s own and it was all she could do not to let out a gasp of delightful surprise. “Do you trust me, Yaz?” The Doctor murmured so softly it was only through the vibrations in her skin that Yaz heard her at all.

“Always.”

What happened next, Yaz wouldn’t be able to explain until later. It was a feeling of warmth, slipping through her forehead, into her blood and bones. A warmth pleasant and comforting and calming all at once, and she knew it came from the Doctor, and that when it was suddenly gone an instant later, leaving her cold and shivering, she could not tell that anything had changed within herself. But something had, she would later realise.

At that moment, though, she was too overwhelmed by the feel of the Doctor against her, her eyes closed tight, trying to remember this feeling, etch it into herself, in case it was the last.

“Hold on, okay,” the Doctor mumbled. “Just hold on.”

Yaz felt the press of the Doctor’s lips against her own: warm and dry and too too quick. A promise to return.

And then the Doctor was gone and Yasmin Khan was alone in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I thought it would be a cool way to explain One and Two's missing eps by having the Mnemosyne suck the memories from the Doctor. Obviously I haven't seen the eps and had to go on wikipedia for help describing them. There's a lot more than I mentioned :(( but describing them all would have taken away from the pace of things I think.  
> Also the Shakespeare quotes I chose because I thought the described the Doctor well.


End file.
